


Fame and Glory

by VS_Brewster



Series: Lives at War [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Lemon, M/M, PWP, first war era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VS_Brewster/pseuds/VS_Brewster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of his father prompts Severus Snape to try and re-unite with Lily.  If you only ever expect the worst, whatever happens will always be a pleasant surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fame and Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This story ties in with The Drawing Room, but can also stand alone. They are of the same universe, and some of the goings on in that story are referenced here.

Severus sat in the study that had been his father's. Books surrounded him. The walls were covered in shelves and the shelves buckled under the weight of books. Philosophy and literature, religious scripture and mathematic theory. All very esoteric. All very grounded in reality -- as far as his father was concerned. He had never understood how such a practical man could be religious. No room for magic in this room, all the wand waving and nonsense and blasphemy. 

"You're so much like your father," his mother once sighed, stroking his hair as she calmed him from a temper tantrum because he couldn't transfigure a blasted egg cup into a chick -- and really, what was the point of that anyway? He had snarled and pulled away, retreating to his Potions textbook and taking comfort in the logic and lineality of it.

He hated his father. He would never be like him. Yet it was too late. It had already happened. He had started down a road of intolerance, draconian adherance to logic and so-called purity. Excellent.

Scrubbing one hand over his face, he flicked his wand at the light bulb overhead. It was getting dark outside. Or rather, it was getting dark inside. The sun had slid behind the bloody mill tower and would not be seen again until the morning. The sudden electric glow made him blink. The blank parchment before him seemed too bright. 

Writing one brief missive to Narcissa had been easy, his spidery scrawl cramped into the top left corner of the page. 

My father has died. I'm at the house in Manchester. I have arrangements to make. Can I make them from yours?

Perhaps he should have written to Lucius instead of Narcissa. She would, of course, share the information and probably issue an immediate invitation. Lucius was the person he wanted to know, the only person to whom he could confess. Lucius the confessor. Snape smirked. His father would be so pleased. If he weren't dead. It wasn't Snape's custom to ask for help and, in the end, that was why he'd addressed it to his former student. He felt he could ask Narcissa for help. He doubted he would ever ask Lucius for anything, if he could help it.

There was one more person that needed to know -- not only for his own sake. Strange creature that she was, she had always professed to like his father. "I like the stern ones. They're a challenge." Then she'd winked and flicked her hair over her shoulder and laughed, never knowing how every perfect gesture made his heart break. 

Severus took his quill from its place soaking in the ink pot, staining his fingertips black. He sneered and carried on regardless. "Lily," he wrote. After this single word, he slouched back in his chair. How to re-build a bridge that he burnt very firmly almost four years prior? They had shared classes and never spoken, never even looked at each other. He because his pride and aspirations would not let him; she because she genuinely hated him. In private penance, he had thought about her every night before he slept (most of those thoughts less than pure). But how could she possibly know that? He played the role too well. 

"How did you fuck up?" That was Lucius's customary question, when they had their little meetings. Snape would confess his arrogance, his temper, his impatience and frustration. Afterwards he would feel absolved -- amongst other things -- and everything would go back to normal. He tried to picture Lily staring at him critically, wearing the same hard expression, her green eyes daring him to lie. "How did you fuck up, Sev?"

*

"Lily,

Please don't destroy this without reading it.

First, my father has died. He had a heart attack and was found by a neighbour. You always said you liked him -- God knows why -- and I thought you should know.

Second, I'm not going to apologise because it doesn't fix anything. But I know I fucked up. I was rude; I betrayed you; I let my temper and hatred for someone else spill over you; I said things to you just to be cruel. I let you down. I don't expect forgiveness because I don't deserve it. But please come to the old man's funeral.

Yours,

Sev."

*

Fucking sympathy cards. Who were they really for? No one liked to receive them. Even Snape, who hated his father and was partly glad but mostly ambivalent about his death didn't take any relish in them. Calla lilies and empty swing sets. How sickening. As each one flicked through the letterbox he cast a critical eye over it then shot an incendio at it without pausing to watch it burn. He wouldn't even open them, were he not still half-hoping that one would be from Lily. The Malfoys had known better. Lucius was stiff and Narcissa was affectionate, and each in their own way supported him. They gave him a bed to sleep in that was not a part of this horrid house and its bleak memories. They talked about the effort, the party, the gossip going around. They gave him wine and made him laugh and weren't unbearable when he wanted to be alone. Narcissa had sent him back to Spinners End with an enormous bunch of white freesias and oriental lilies, covered in a preservation spell that would not let them wilt. "Muggle houses are poky and dark, aren't they? This will lighten it up. And cover the smell."

Despite the company he now kept, Snape couldn't help a wry smile at some of the pureblood ideas about Muggles. Perhaps he was being disloyal to his chosen path, but he had been raised amongst Muggles. He was more than aware of their failings, their cruelties; they did not need to be turned into comedy villains.

Still, not a word from Lily, not an acknowledgement or card or owl or anything. His owl had returned empty-taloned, so the letter had been delivered, despite his not knowing her address. He had scrawled "Lily Evans/Potter" on the envelope, not knowing for certain which she was, and told the bird to start at Hogwarts. Four days later the owl returned. That was plenty of time to get to Hogwarts and be redirected before returning to him. And yet.

He had resigned himself to her persisting indifference and told himself he didn't care. As green flames rose in the Spinners End fireplace -- and oh, what a sight that would have been for the old man -- the two Malfoys stepped neatly across the threshold. Narcissa had done her best to dress them appropriately for a Muggle funeral. The result was ... well, they would be the best dressed pair at the event. 

Narcissa wore a floor length black gown made of clinging lace, that exentuated every perfect curve. A veil would have been fitting, but she had foregone the extravagance, apparently deeming it a step too far. A long veil obscured her face, but he could see she was pale beneath. Lucius had said something about her being sick a lot. His gaze swept down over her body, but nothing seemed out of place. No swollen stomach. God knows, they pawed at each other enough, there would have to be a baby on the way sooner or later.

Lucius matched her nicely, in a Victorian looking black tail coat, black trousers, black shirt and tie. It was a bit over-kill, but he would have expected nothing less. Had there been something about a top hat, some argument? It might have been fitting. He thought of his father reading him Dickens, of Oliver Twist employed by the funeral director to look suitably sad at funerals. Were it not for Lucius's ever-present smirk, he might have done the job quite nicely.

Narcissa opened her arms to him and he gladly stepped into their circle, breathing in her jasmine scent and kissing her behind the ear. He caught Lucius's eye and smirked, knowing he would be made to suffer for it later and quite enjoying the idea.

They walked to the church yard, to a small congregation of university students and neighbours and colleagues. One or two of the older neighbours knew Severus and nodded, looking sympathetic. For the others, Snape suspected he looked enough like old Tobias that they could guess who he was. Dewy eyed students threatened to approach him. Snape scowled and stood apart. The vicar, who had known his father well, intoned the old words that meant nothing. Snape didn't listed. He scanned the faces of those around him, skimming strangers, until he lit on a face that was painfully familiar.

Red hair had darkened a little with maturity, and was cut to fall to her shoulders. The old Charlie's Angels flick and thick fringe she had had at Hogwarts had gone, her hair just neatly framing a pale, slightly freckled face. Her eyes were hidden behind large dark glasses and in one hand she held a tissue. Her lips were pink and full, drawn into a straight line. He wondered if she had seen him, if she intended to speak to him.

The words were spoken and for a few moments the throng of people stood and looked at each other, then at Severus. He heaved a sigh and walked to the pile of earth, tactfully covered by a green tarpaulin. He picked up a handful of dirt and stepped towards the hole to throw it down on his father's coffin. There was no point in saying anything. Tobias wouldn't have listened, even if he were capable.

A couple of students stepped forwards and copied the gesture, murmuring fruitlessly under their breath. Then Lily did the same. She crouched down as she threw the earth in and smiled for a moment before standing. 

Severus was drawn to her, stood in front of her before he knew it.

"Hello," she said. Her voice hadn't changed. Firm and rich with the Manchester accent flattening her vowels. She smiled, but it wasn't a proper smile.

"I'm glad you came," he said, painfully aware of the clipped tones he had begun to adopt in his sixth year to fit in with the purebloods. The magical upper classes had always sneered at his regional accent and it had been easy enough to leave behind.

"Well," Lily said, seeming to find the right words difficult. "He was your father. It can't be easy."

Severus raised one shoulder in a shrug, looking down at the ground. She had worn a dress, a short black dress with white pockets and a coat that was too large for her over the top. It started to rain and he worried that she would leave to stay dry.

She sighed and ran a hand up his arm. "Stop pretending to hate everything. You're allowed to be sad he's dead. If only because it's one less thing to rail against."

He made a huffed sound of amusement. That was true enough. He had forgotten what it was like to be around someone who had known him since he was small.

"How's married life?"

She sighed in irritation. "Don't start. You were doing so well."

Severus found himself smiling. She had always made that easy, even though he wasn't a person accustomed to sunny moods. "What did you used to call me? 'Consummate over-achiever'?"

She smiled as well, and he had genuinely forgotten how beautiful that smile was. "I've never said 'consummate'. That sounds like one of your words." Her smile curled a little tighter. "Accurate, though." The town clock chimed in the distance and Lily sighed. "I have to go."

He tried to keep his grip gentle as he encircled one small, brittle wrist in his hand. "Please stay. I don't mean to be an arse. I'd like to catch up."

That sweet smile was back. "I'd like that, too. But not today. I'll write. Are you staying at the house?"

Severus shook his head. "Address it to the Munich Institute, I'll get it there. I'm sort of between homes, but they've got me lodged in one of the student rooms there for now."

Lily's eyes widened slightly and her smile grew sad. "The Munich Institute? My, Severus. You have done well for yourself." Then she was leaning in and up to kiss his cheek. Severus bowed his head to oblige, eyes closing to better focus on the smell of her. Summer rain and woody green fragrance. That hadn't changed, and he was so glad. He had been afraid she would smell of Potter. "I hope the price wasn't too high," she whispered as her lips ghosted against his cheek.

It was a low move but he had done it all the time that last year of their friendship, when it was becoming more and more apparent that friendship wasn't quite enough for him any more. He turned his head quickly and pressed his lips to hers. Too quick for passion, too brusque to be sexy, but he still felt a thrill at the heat of her mouth and wished they were alone, wished she could stay. His hand had tightened on her wrist again.

When he opened his eyes she was still smiling, and for a moment he thought he had won and she would stay. "You don't change," she breathed. "Poor Severus."

The next moment she had gone, slipping easily from his grasp as she always had. At the kissing gate she looked over her shoulder and raised a hand to wave. It was tempting to follow and see where she went, whom she saw, to force his way back into her life rather than wait and let her welcome him in time. A soft clearance of the throat reminded him he did not have the luxury; he could not simply choose his actions any more. Narcissa and Lucius were waiting for him.

*

Esser was a decent type. A harder task master than Slughorn had ever been and not inclined to smile or talk, but he knew his stuff and believed in hard work. He cleaned his own cauldrons or, if he didn't, he thanked whoever did. He never got above himself. And when Severus wanted to try something new he was grilled, in halting English, for every detail: why he wanted to do it, what he hoped to achieve, what was the basis for his theory. It taught him to do his research, to plan the battles to fight and the ones to save for later. He learned that every brewing process could be improved and to never let his standards drop. Hard work was rewarded in Munich. Snape put time into the labs, and in return was offered opportunities to travel and network. He was on first name terms with the headmaster at Durmstrang and taught a couple of advanced sessions there, a Babel-spell covering his appalling fudged German. He had presented findings to conferences all over Europe and accompanied Esser through the supply and experimental labs in Berlin, Paris and Vienna. 

Progress reports were made to the Dark Lord. Esser believed in transparency -- another new concept -- and Snape was shown every report. "How do you learn if you don't know where are your mistakes? How do you grow if you don't know what is good?" Hard working, dedicated, innovative. Won't learn the language. Doesn't play well with others. The few criticisms didn't seem to bother his position back home. He had never been a social being and the Dark Lord didn't want him for his charm. Nor was he bothered whether or not Severus was a linguist. Brewing didn't require a head for languages, but a steady hand and logical mind.

Before long, his experiments and developments began to drive the over-all plan. It was only a matter of time before the Statute of Secrecy would be publicly challenged, and there was already enough support (bought or otherwise) to have it abolished. Severus worked with blood and magic, identifiers and tags. It was dark stuff, perhaps, but it would be vital one day and he would have made the first steps. Because of him there was the potential to track the Muggleborns, keep tabs on what they do, limit their magic and maybe quash it completely -- not a personal goal, but things he knew would interest the Dark Lord. The work was his and he would be renowned for it one day. It would pave the way to his future. It would be his legacy.

"Letter, Herr Snape," Esser said as he walked down the many steps into the Potions lecture hall. Snape was preparing for Esser's lecture, brewing the base in situ. He charmed the stirring rod to keep the correct rhythm and wiped his hands on his overcoat.

"Danke," Snape muttered, taking the letter. Esser rolled his eyes and made a tight-lipped smile, moving to look over Snape's work.

Snape picked up one of the silver knives on the prep table and sliced the envelope open, a smile breaking across his face when he read the signature. "I think that must be a girl," he heard Esser say behind him. "That must be the biggest I have seen you smile."

Snape muted his expression and tucked the letter away in his pocket, taking the stirring rod back up. It would be best to enjoy her letter in private.

An hour later, Snape was ensconced in the little room that he called his own, however temporarily. A bed and a fireplace and a heavily-expanded bookshelf. He only spent the time he slept here, every waking hour normally dedicated to the labs and any spare time spent back in Britain or in the Institute's library. He sat on the bed and put his feet up. Sounds of shouting and laughter came through the open window from the courtyard below. The students, studying towards Mastership in their various disciplines, seemed never to be as dedicated to their studies as Snape, a mere assistant. The time might come when the Dark Lord had enough faith in him to pay the exorbitant tuition fees for the Institute, and a living stipend on top, but it would not arrive until they were successful. He had thought of selling the house on Spinners End, but the thought made him feel a bit sick. He might hate the place, but it was his, and he had little enough family legacy as it was. The time would come, one way or another, and Snape would breeze through the course after all his work with Esser. The exams and coursework would be a formality. Perhaps he would even distinguish himself as the fastest graduate the Institute had ever known.

He took the letter from its envelope. He should have recognised the even, looping handwriting, but it had been so long since they studied together in the school library. 

"Dear Sev,

It was so nice to see you. How are you getting on? I know it can be a pain dealing with lawyers and things for the house. Will you keep it? I hope so. I remember coming over for Sunday lunch in the summer hols and all the windows wide open because it was much too hot for a roast but your Dad always insisted. God, and all your Dad's books. Remember looking in the anatomy encyclopedia at the rude pictures and your Mum catching us? I don't think I've ever blushed so hard or felt so sick.

Now, don't be angry. I haven't told James. Because you're as bad as each other for being hard-headed and for a change I wanted to do what I want without a hectoring. So don't you start either! Besides which, you know why I can't tell him. The other reasons. The Munich Institute, Sev? Do I really need to ask who set that up? It makes me a bit sick, thinking that you've really hitched your wagon up with that lot. Well, maybe best leave it there. I don't want to make you angry, and I don't want to be angry. Can we talk? I'd like to see you properly.

Sincerely,

Lily."

Alone in his room, Snape chewed over the implications of the letter. On the positive, she wanted to see him again, and she fondly remembered their childhood. On the negative there was always going to be the politics. She was with Dumbledore and the status quo, keen to stay hidden rather than embrace the power that could be gained by ending secrecy. On that point they would probably never agree. Snape wasn't anti-Muggleborn, not as such, but thinking of the way his father had reacted to his magic made him certain he wasn't alone. A magical child in a Muggle family should be praised and rewarded, not punished and supressed. The muggles needed to know about magic and understand that they could not supress what they didn't understand; understand the power of what they were dealing with, and learnt to admire it. 

Thinking on those lines led in circles which would never resolve. Instead he focused on her digs at Potter. Not surprising -- the man was an arse -- but interesting that she should admit it in her roundabout way, and to him of all people. He began to imagine a scenario where she trusted him enough again to come to him, complain to Potter and, naturally enough, fall into his open arms. From there, his thoughts turned distinctly pornographic. He unfastened his trousers and took his hardening cock in hand, thinking of that short dress she wore to the funeral, slidin it up over her hips. She smiled that warm smile and closed her eyes as he slid inside of her, and her lips ghosted again behind his ear. Leisurely stroking turned erratic and in moments sticky semen spilled over his hand.

He wiped the back of his hand on the sheets and thought, for a moment, of Lucius. The other subject of his wanking fantasies. He wondered that he could want two such entirely opposite people for entirely opposite reasons. Attraction was a strange process.

*

A week later, Severus stepped into the MI common room for the first time since he had been working there. It looked a bit like the Slytherin common room back at Hogwarts but lighter and filled with a more jovial kind of student. He recognised a couple of students from Esser's classes. They scowled at him, recognising him as an inferior. That made it easy for him to get a couple of chairs to himself.

When Lily walked in she saw him straight away and walked over, smiling to the other students if they made eye contact. One or two of the boys looked interested and Snape scowled. Doomed to forever have to compete for her attention.

She kissed his cheek before sitting and Snape didn't try anything this time. He accepted the greeting with good grace and tried to relax back into his seat. "Tea?" he asked, conjuring a tea set and frowning when the milk appeared soured.

Lily grinned and flicked her wand at it, fixing his mistake wordlessly. "Still having problems with the foolish wand waving?" She leaned forwards to play mother and poured for each of them. She was dressed in Muggle clothes again, a blouse and short skirt. Her hair was up in a pony tail. She was still so beautiful it made him hurt.

"I get by," he replied smoothly. "I don't like to talk politics, but shall we get it out of the way?"

Green eyes flicked up, watching him for a long moment while she set the tea pot back on the tray. "I just never took you for a hypocrite," she said simply, as though picking up a conversation they had had years ago. "Because that's what it is. I'm a Muggleborn. And God, Sev, you used to adore me. I mean, I don't want to embarrass you or laugh at you, but we were so close. I really thought you loved me."

"I do," he said quietly. He added sugar to his tea. Four lumps. Another habit he had developed to spite his father. When he looked up, Lily was blushing.

"If you say so," she answered primly, stirring milk into her own tea. "And then you take up with that lot. They might be very smooth, talking about dissolving the Statute of Secrecy because the wizards and muggles have a lot to learn from each other, but anyone with half a brain knows that's propaganda. We know the Muggleborns are the real targets. And that's me, Sev. I won't be supressed because of my parents aren't magical. Honestly, why would you want to? How can you think that's an acceptable idea?"

He sighed, feeling awkward in a way that only she could cause. "It's a job," he said lamely. She was right, of course. Right about the hypocracy, even right about the morals. Lily was brilliant, a few other Muggleborns at Hogwarts had been notable. Personally speaking, he had no issues with bloodline -- his own was muddied enough. But the puzzle, the challenge, the possibilities of separating out the magic from the blood and capitalising on it. No one else had been able to do it and he was making real progress. He could quite easily separate his professional ambition from personal ethics. "They pay me, they provide opportunities, and they fucking appreciate me."

Lily glowered in response.

"You can be high and mighty, but I had no where to live. I was homeless and they gave me a bed, a job, an occupation and a promise of furtherment. What would you have me do? Go crawling and scraping back to Tobias at the end of school, have my wand locked away while I tried to find a job that paid me enough to move out?"

She looked down at her tea. "You were going to go to St Mungo's."

"And be a midwitch. Can you honestly imagine?"

Her lips twitched. "Your bedside manner leaves a little to be desired."

"Carrying out the same tasks, day in and day out, resolving the same petty, transient issues with the same tired methods. Boring. Absolutely boring, and it would be months before they sacked me for being myself."

"Perhaps the Ministry would-"

"Fund other means of study? Actually use someone clever to do something useful? Yes, well, perhaps they will under a new regime."

She was frowning again. "You're still supporting them. Even if you don't follow the dogma of Muggleborn inferiority, you're enabling them to spread it."

Severus remained silent. There was nothing to say. She was right, but he wasn't about to change anything. He was sealing his own future, a future of greatness. A friend should be happy for him. "Any chance at all of agreeing to disagree?" he asked softly. Classes must have started, the room was almost empty. The clinking of china when cups were deposited in their saucers was too loud.

"I just don't know. I can't reconcile myself to this ... this bigotry by the back door."

He ran a hand over his eyes. "Then why are you even here?" All for nothing. He had got his hopes up and all for nothing.

Lily was sighing again. "Well. Maybe you're not the only hypocrite." As he stared at her, Severus tried to remember if he had ever heard Lily criticise herself before. Normally her Gryffindor morality was faultless -- improbable and annoying, but faultless none the less. "I like you. Acerbic humour and terse manner and social intolerance and all. They sound like horrible things, but in you they sort of work. Does that make sense?"

"No," Severus said shortly. "I think you're talking bollocks."

It was Lily's turn to shrug. "Probably." She sipped her tea, green eyes sparkling at him mischievously over the rim of her cup. His stomach tightened and he felt a low hum of arousal start to vibrate through him. "But it makes sense to me. I like you. Can't seem to help it, even if it's stupid." She put her tea cup back in its saucer and checked her watch. "I've got another hour. Got anything stronger? Maybe in your room?"

It was all Snape could do not to spit tea through his nose. She was grinning. She knew exactly what she did to him. How the sorting hat had seen fit to put her in Gryffindor, he would never know.

Snape walked stiffly through the white painted halls to the students' quarters. Lily walked close behind him. At one point they passed a large throng of students and she slipped a finger through one of his belt loops, holding on to make sure she didn't lose him in the sudden rush of people. When they passed into a quieter hall, her hand remained. He felt the gentle pull and weight of her behind him.

"What are you playing at?" He demanded as they reached his room. He stood in the doorway, not yet letting her enter. Not until she had explained herself.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking almost disappointed -- as though he had spoiled a fine game.

"I'm not twelve years old any more. Sneaking into my room has significance."

She closed the distance between them. One hand smoothed over his cheek, her thumb running over the dark stubble. Her other hand flattened against his stomach, fingers splayed and threatening to creep lower. "Definitely not twelve any more."

"Explain," Snape growled, grateful that Lucius had been teaching him restraint. Even so, it was all he could do not to tumble her straight into his room and start undressing her. He thought of swimming with her in the lake when they were fifteen; trying to conceal his stiffy under the surface as droplets of water slid from her hair between her breasts and onwards beneath the neckline of her swimsuit. Wank fodder for months, even years afterwards, and there was no way she didn't know what she was doing. It was the same now, except he wasn't a boy any more. He wouldn't be teased and watch her laugh and run away.

"No," she said simply. Then her hand slid around to the nape of his neck and she pulled him forwards and down far enough to kiss him. 

So long. He had waited so long for this. A kiss that was not stolen or half-hearted or a dare. It was a mystery to him how their friendship had survived, even when Lily knew how much Severus wanted her. In their early teens they had 'practiced' kissing. From her face when they parted, Severus wasn't yet very good at it. The trick of turning his head when she kissed his cheek had been a running joke in their fifth year. A joke for the month or so that it was funny, but after that a simple frustration. She let him do it, but would never reciprocate; never told him not to. The other boys teased him, and he seemed to live in a daze of perpetual sexual frustration. Perhaps, if she had just rebuffed or accepted him, the whole nasty 'Mudblood' fiasco would never have happened.

With Lily initiating the kiss, it was entirely different. Her lips were warm and soft. She cleverly manipulated her mouth against his. Severus wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close, worried that in a moment she would slip away and laugh at him as she had when they were children. He could feel her breath puffing warm against his cheek and softly, so softly, she made a noise in the back of her throat. The arousal he had barely kept in check spiked at the sound, and without breaking the kiss he scrabbled at the door behind him for the handle, tumbling them inside.

Lily did laugh then, stumbling after him. She laughed, but didn't leave. In fact, she advanced and wrapped her arms around his neck again. This time he felt the slide of her tongue against his lips and it was his turn to moan. "What about Potter?" he found himself muttering against her lips -- and it struck him as ridiculous that he should be the one moralising in this situation.

When they pulled apart she was frowning. "Just don't," she said. "Don't think."

So he didn't. He eagerly helped her undress, shucking his own clothes with the spells he had learned under Lucius's tutelage. It was not graceful or languid, as he had always imagined sex should be. He did not spend time kissing each inch of skin as it was bared, bringing her to new heights of desire with every graze of his fingers and swipe of his tongue. They rushed and by the time they were naked they were both hot and breathless. She kissed delicately, shifting subtly away when he threatened to become aggressive. Their teeth never clashed. They were never bruising. And it occurred to him, he was not allowed to leave a mark of any kind, nothing that her husband would be able to identify.

The thought was put from his mind as Lily fell back onto the bed. She had loosed her hair and it spread around her head in a brilliant halo. Fallen angel, he thought absently, and wondered again what on earth she was playing at. Then she reached for his cock and all thoughts fled his head, replaced instead with the throbbing need to be inside of her.

"Are you...?" he asked, kneeling on the bed between her spread thighs. He grazed two fingers over the pink crease of her slit, spreading her lips and looking at the glistening folds of flesh. He had never seen a real one before. Not like this, not outside a medical context; not a woman that was wet and hungry to fuck. "Do you need me to...?" He didn't know the words.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling and pulling him down on top of her, interrupting his inspection of her cunny. "Come here."

She reached between them as he tried to hold his weight off her and took his cock. He felt slick scalding heat against the head of his cock. His heart stuttered. This was really going to happen. 

"There," she whispered.

Instinct took over as he pushed inside her. She was wet and sliding inside was easy. But the tightness and the heat was so new and intense. It wasn't like his hand. He had no control over it and every movement from either of them made him shift inside of her. The pressure and friction were constant and extreme, almost overwhelming. And all the time she ... rippled around him. Her muscles seemed to flutter and stroke him, and he could feel his balls tightening when he hadn't even moved. 

"Sev," she said softly. 

He was panting and lost in his own head, lost to the desperate need not to come just yet. When she said his name again, he opened his eyes and found her looking at him. Smiling. She touched his cheek kindly. "First time?" she asked.

Too ashamed and too aroused to reply, he just nodded.

Her lips were on his again and he groaned loudly against her mouth, hips rocking. "It's ok," she whispered, her breath hot and moist. "It's ok to be quick. Do what feels good."

It all felt good.

Experimentally, he shifted his hips. She seemed to tighten around him and Snape groaned. He wanted to be deeper but couldn't quite fit. Then she raised her legs up around his hips and there was suddenly more space. He hooked her knee over his shoulder and pressed his pelvis flush against hers. Lily's eyes were heavy lidded as she gazed up at him, her mouth slack but smiling. As he start to thrust in and out of her, her breasts bounced invitingly.

"Harder," she whispered.

Snape growled, stretching her leg back towards her body as he lowered himself, wanting to feel her body against his as he fucked her. Too, too soon he was gone, hips losing their rhythm as he shot his come into her. 

With a groan, he rolled to the side on the narrow bed. He expected her, at every moment, to laugh at him and leave. Instead she took his hand and slid it between her legs.

"Make me come," she invited, challenged. "Do you know -- Oh!"

His fingers slid between her folds, collecting slick juice and stroking over the little nub. Vagina, labia, clitoris, he thought, thinking again of the anatomy book. The clitoris had more nerve endings than his penis, so he knew to be gentle. More than that, he thought of how Lucius teased his cock when he really wanted to drive Snape wild. He circled a fingertip around that hard little bud, as he might want her to circle her tongue around the head of his cock. The clitoris extend up, beneath the labia, beneath the pubic mound. His sticky fingers squeezed the ridge of hardness through the fleshy skin, running up and down. The heel of his hand pressed on her pubis. Up and down, then stroke her clit directly. Make sure it's lubricated. Don't let it become over-sensitised. The processes, free of the dizzying distraction of immediate arousal, were easy to follow, to extrapolate what might feel good and experiment.

Her hands were clawed in the sheets, her eyes closed and her legs spread wide. She slid one leg over his hip and he could feel his cock hardening again against her. Concentrate, he thought. He leaned down and licked one puckered nipple. "Oh god, I'm going to-"

It was not God, but Snape's clever fingers that tickled and stroked her flesh until it started to twitch. Her whole body jerked and she squeezed her legs shut over his hand, pulling him close and kissing her. He wiped his fingers on the sheet, kissing her back. 

"Severus Snape," she breathed, her hand wrapping around his erect cock and stroking him slowly. "You never fail to amaze me."

The compliment spurred him on. He ducked away from her hand, from the promise of another orgasm so soon, and took the opportunity to kiss and lick and memorise every contour of her body. Legs hooked over shoulders and thumbs spanned over hip bones. He put theory into practice and ran through each anatomical label, kissing and licking its real life counterpart. Dark eyes watched Lily's every reaction. When he pressed his lower lip to the place below her clit -- urethra -- and flickered his tongue against the tip of the nub she tensed painfully, hips rising up towards his face. Within moments she was coming again, and he could see the little spasms and twitches her cunny made. 

He wanted to fuck her again and started to move up her body, but she was too quick. She reversed their positions, pushing him back against the bed and straddling his hips. In a moment he was inside her again, with no fumbling or awkwardness. Open and wet, her cunt welcomed him and she began riding him. He noticed the open window, the drifting sounds of laughter from the courtyard. Could they be heard as clearly? The panting and moaning and creaking must carry. Not that he cared.

Snape lasted longer this time, less desperate, less uncertain than before. He reached up to her breasts and pinched her nipples. She smiled and fucked him harder. Her kisses undid him. When she leaned forwards he could feel her naked breasts against his chest, and the flicker of her tongue against his lips. Her breathy moans spilled into his mouth, and he spilled into her cunt.

She lay atop him for some time. They breathed together, stuck together. Severus ran a hand up her back, wishing he could hold her there forever with his cock softening inside her. As ever, he had to do something to ruin everything.

"Will this happen again?" he asked, his mind too distracted to know it was probably the wrong moment to ask.

Lily sighed and rolled off him. She sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him, and Snape knew that she would leave and he would probably never see her again. Her shoulders were tense. When she didn't move, he reached out a hand and trailed his fingers down her spine, feeling the protrusion of each vertebrae. "James can't know," she said without looking at him.

"Obviously," Snape drawled.

"I'm serious." She rhugged off his hand and turned to face him again. "I'm not going to leave my husband. We're never going to ride into the sunset together."

In later life, Severus would find it incredibly sad that he had never even considered such an outcome. He had always assumed that, if any relationship should exist, it would always be illicit; he would never be the first priority. 

Snape nodded. "That won't be a problem."

Lily smiled at him sadly, running a hand over his cheek again. "I have to go. But I'll write."

He lay and watched as she dressed -- stockings, underwear, skirt and blouse all twitched into place under his lazy gaze. She didn't seem particularly self conscious. It occured to him to ask why this, why now. But for once, he decided against ruining everything. There would be plenty of time to ask, if she was serious. And if not, if she changed her mind in an hour or a day or week, then at least he would have this. One perfect afternoon.

She brushed a kiss across his forehead. "Poor Severus," she said softly. He captured her hand and grazed the inside of her wrist with his teeth. Then she smiled and kissed him properly, before disappearing out the door.


End file.
